


Interrogation

by TwoThreeOneSeven4611



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Khan Noonien Singh - Fandom, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoThreeOneSeven4611/pseuds/TwoThreeOneSeven4611
Summary: You have the information he needs, and he will obtain it from you...by any means necessary.
Kudos: 7





	Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, I started writing this ficlet when I first saw Star Trek Into Darkness (almost 8 years ago, Jesus Christ...). It had been sitting on my computer for so long and I wanted to clear up some space...so I polished it up a bit, and here we are.
> 
> Enjoy. ;)

You slowly open your eyes.

You don’t know how long you’ve been unconscious. A few hours? A few days? 

The last thing you remember was sitting in Mission Control at HQ, tracking the Enterprise’s progress. The explosion was sudden and massive. Your ears were ringing loud enough to muffle the screams of those around you. In your hazy eyes were glimpses of fire, smoke, and ash…and a shadowy figure - a medic perhaps - looming over you before you lost consciousness. 

As you sit up now, you realize one thing is for certain: you are most definitely not in a medical ward.

You wince and gingerly touch your head, holding the wall for support as you rise to your feet. The throbbing fades the longer you stand, and you sigh with relief; only a dull headache, nothing more. Indeed, you don’t appear to have any visible wounds; no bloodstains on your Starfleet uniform, no cuts or bruises on your legs and arms. You count your blessings, and look around.

You appear to be in a large holding cell. The walls are black and cold. All is silent.

At your feet are six other colleagues from Mission Control. Four men and two women of various ages and ranks. They’re all unconscious as well…at least, you hope that’s all they are. You check each of their pulses just to make sure, and try to shake them awake, calling their names. Slowly, each of them open their eyes, and you smile with relief for the first time. 

One of them, Catherine, grabs her thigh, which has been wrapped in a large bandage. The sight of it causes your group to wonder: were we injured, but treated? And why? And where are we now?

One of the men states his suspicions: that everyone is on some sort of vessel. Maybe even a Starship. But that’s impossible, you think. The only ship authorized for use back then was the Enterprise. Did whoever caused the explosion at HQ also steal a ship? But how? Whispers of a possible explanation spread amongst your group: a terrorist attack. 

Your communication devices have been taken, leaving you without contact anyone outside your cell. You collectively realize you’re not going to get any answers talking amongst yourselves. All you can do is wait.

When other people do finally arrive, they offer no explanations. They are silent as they serve you food and water, ignoring all of your questions. They are not wearing the standard Starfleet uniforms; instead of the usual blue, yellow, or red, their shirts are black or various shades of gray, but they still have the Starfleet insignia on them. They are all unnaturally beautiful, and carry no weapons. Somehow, you suspect that they don’t need weapons at all, that their bodies themselves would be more than capable of causing catastrophic damage if provoked.

Eventually, they start to separate the group one by one. Two or three of them enter the cell, pick out someone, and drag them out without a word, ignoring their panicked pleas for release. When a few hours pass and the first person they pick out doesn’t return, you grow a little nervous. By the third day, when you and Catherine are the only ones left, you struggle to remain optimistic.

“Do you think they’re going to kill us?” Catherine asks you.

You shake your head, trying to reassure yourself as much as her. “Why would they go through the trouble of rescuing and treating us if they mean to kill us?”

“So why haven’t they returned anyone else?”

“Maybe they’re keeping them in another cell?” you suggest. But even you find it hard to believe your own words.

“Do you think this is about Project Delt--”

“Shhh,” you hiss. Your eyes quickly scan the cell for bugs or cameras, and even though you don’t see anything, you can’t know for sure. 

She gets the message. She nods, but still meets your gaze. You shrug hopelessly, and she sighs and curls up on the floor, massaging her bandaged leg.

“Do you think it’s…you know…him?” she asks hesitantly. 

You stare at her. You want to believe it can’t be true. Khan and his 72 crew members were cryogenically frozen all those years ago, after he stood trial for the attacks on London and San Francisco. Their bodies were heavily guarded 24 hours a day, and no one but the elite higher-ups at HQ were permitted to even be in the same room as them. There’s no way they could’ve escaped so easily…but they were far from normal prisoners. 

“I don’t know,” you reply. “It doesn’t make sense…I just don’t know.”

The door opens. Two crew members, a man and a woman, enter and walk to Catherine wordlessly. Before they reach her, she turns to you and says:

“Do not tell them anything. No matter what.”

You nod. What else can you do? 

She cries out a little when they pull her to her aching leg. They lead her out of the room, the door sliding closed behind them.

Hours pass. Food and water are still offered to you, and any questions about where you are and what happened to your colleagues continue to go unanswered. 

After a few more meals, the food stops. 

You wait.

-

Some time later, the door opens again, and the same man and woman from before enter and walk towards you. You stand up to face them and close your eyes, ready to meet your fate.

But they don’t pull you from the room. Instead, they grab you by your shoulders and push you up against the wall. The woman takes your arms and raises them above your head, while the man takes out a pair of handcuffs and loops them around a bar in the wall above your hands. You make no effort to resist as the handcuffs are secured around your wrists, and he punches a code into them, locking them in place. 

The woman pulls out a high-tech syringe and presses it into your right thigh, then your left. The effect is almost instantaneous; your legs sting with pins and needles, and then go numb. You attempt to shift them, even wiggle your toes, but they do not respond. 

You stare daggers at these people, wondering why they aren’t letting you go; why they aren’t taking you to the others. But before you can open your mouth, the man turns toward the door.

“She is secured as ordered, Captain,” he calls.

Captain?

A dark shadow fills the door frame, and a man enters the room. You stare in horrified disbelief, and if you weren’t restrained you would’ve collapsed.

Khan.

Whether it was the result of his “sleep” or his superhuman blood, he looked like he hadn’t aged at all since the last time you saw him years ago, on the news, after he was sentenced. His all-black Starfleet uniform matches his slicked-back hair. His cold eyes lock onto yours. He turns to the others.

“Leave us. Both of you.”

The man nods. “For how long, sir?”

Khan looks at you as he answers. “As long as it takes.”

You gulp.

The man and woman - augments, you now realize - look at each other and nod before departing. The door slides closed behind them, leaving you alone with your captor.

You wonder if he can sense your fear, and you decide the best thing you can do is show as little as possible. You try to stand a little taller on your useless legs and meet eyes with him.

“Hello, Khan,” you say. Despite your efforts, your voice shakes.

He’s noticed, and smirks a little. “You know my name.”

“I know of your crimes,” you say, your words dripping with contempt. “All those lives lost across two continents. Admiral Marcus, dozens of Starfleet officers, tens of thousands of civilians.”

He nods absently. “Their deaths were…unfortunate.”

“They were innocent people! And you snuffed them out like they were nothing!”

“Do you think Marcus was innocent?” he shouts, and you wince as his voice echoes through the room. He composes himself, however, and turns away from you, though not before you see a flicker of pain in his face. “If he had just let me be with my crew, no one would’ve been hurt. If he had even let me see them…”

“Khan,” you say cautiously, “the Admiral had no right to do what he did to you. And I’m sorry for it, truly I am. But that does not give you the right to slaughter the innocent. And now the cycle has begun again. You bombed Headquarters. More innocent people have suffered and probably died. You have your crew. Why do all this again?”

He turns to face you. “I had to do to get Kirk’s attention. Word of it must have reached him by now…wherever he is.”

His eyes narrow when he focuses on you. “But I didn’t come here to discuss myself. I came to see you. As you can see, you’re the only one left. I recommend you start talking.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Tell me where the others are. Are they…” You can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Dead? No. They’re…inconvenienced, but alive. My crew was a little rougher on them than I would have preferred, but…the ends justify the means, after all. There was that one woman …Catherine. Her leg was already in poor shape…but now she might not ever walk again.”

You consider yourself lucky that you’re restrained, otherwise you might have done something regrettable. All you can do is close your eyes. Catherine…

He steps a little closer to you. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…tell me about Project Delta.”

And there it is. The reason why you’re here. The thing you were afraid of Catherine saying out loud, the reason for your capture. 

He wants to know where the Enterprise is.

You look up at him. Catherine’s words echo in your mind. Don’t tell them anything. No matter what.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know what--”

You hear his hand strike your face before you feel it.Your cheek burns and numbs. He’s killed people with those same hands and you curse yourself for provoking that sort of rage in him. But you made a promise to Caroline, and you intend to keep it. As you swish your tongue around in your mouth in an effort to ease the pain, you faintly taste the metallic swirl of blood.

“Do not lie to me, girl. I know you were one of a chosen few who knew about the Enterprise’s mission.”

He straightens you back up and holds your face inches from his own. “Care to try again?”

Your response - your stupid response - is to spit in his face before you can stop yourself. He barely winces as your blood-tainted saliva slides down his cheek. He slowly reaches up and wipes it away with his fingers and stares down at your bloody spit.

“I see…” he says.

Then his eyes lock onto yours. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

Jesus Christ…there’s something about that gesture that sends goose bumps up your spine. Primal. Menacing. Dominating. Like he’s savoring the taste of your blood, and therefore your pain. 

Like he’s getting off on it. 

“It appears that being civil won’t work with you,” he says.

His eyes scan your body, taking you in piece by piece…the handcuffs restraining you above your head, your uniform and skirt hugging your every curve, your legs numb and straining to support you. You recognize the way he’s looking at you, and the thought of not being able to shield yourself from his penetrating eyes disgusts you.

“Fortunately,” he continues, “there are other methods…unconventional, but effective nonetheless.”

“What…sort of methods?” you ask. But you already know the answer just by the way he’s looking at you.

His hand suddenly reaches under your skirt, and you wince at his touch. You strain to move your legs, to force them closed, but they still won’t move. His fingers deftly move across your underwear before finding the folds covering your clit and pinching them, hard, and an electric bolt shoots up your body. You cry out in pain, with the slightest hint of pleasure. He brings his face to yours and grips the hair on the back of your head.

“If you resist,” he growls, “I will kill you…and order my crew to kill Catherine, and all the rest of them, right now.”

If he does, he’ll never find the Enterprise, and that there’s only so much you can resist considering your arms and legs are incapacitated, and you want to remind him of that, but there’s something about the way he’s touching you that makes your head spin, and the words won’t come. Fear has taken over.

No, not fear. Something else. 

You nod and close your eyes.

“Good girl.”

His lips brush yours as he forms the words, and before you can react he claims your mouth with his own. His kiss is entirely dominating, and his hand on the back of your head only reassures his control. His tongue worms its way into your mouth and tangles with your own, and he groans a little when he tastes the faint traces of blood that remain. 

He suddenly pulls back and turns you around so your chest is pressed against the wall. Your arms awkwardly twist above you and you whimper at the sudden burst of pain in your shoulders. He steadies you on your useless legs and lifts your skirt with one hand, and with his other he grabs your underwear and tears it off you in one swift motion, exposing yourself to him. 

He leans in and kisses the back of your neck as he reaches between your legs again. Two of his fingers thrust into you, and you gasp.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers. “Are you a virgin?”

You wordlessly shake your head, and he sighs, as if disappointed.

“That’s a shame. It would’ve been my honour to be your first.” His lips curl into a mocking grin against your ear as he strokes you. 

You can feel how warm and wet you’re becoming and you come to the sinking realization that your body is betraying you. In spite of your fear, in spite of the danger…or perhaps because of it? 

His wet fingers trail up your backside to your anus. “And what about here, hmm? Have you been fucked here before?”

Your eyes begin to water as you realize what he intends to do. You choose not to respond to him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He leans in close to you, one hand on the back of your neck pushing you into the wall, the other cupping your backside. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says. “All you have to do is tell me, and I can spare you from the pain. From the humiliation. It won’t offend me in the slightest. All you have to do is tell me where he is…”

Don’t tell them. No matter what.

You shut your eyes and the word escapes your lips before you can swallow it down. “No.”

And for one blissful second, there is silence. 

It doesn’t last.

“Fine, then. Have it your way.”

-

When he finishes, he reaches up over your head and enters a code into your restraints. They release you immediately and you collapse to the floor. 

Besides your faint gasps, all is silent. You hear him zip his trousers and walk to the side of the room. He presses a button on the wall and a static-filled voice answers.

“Sir?” 

“Commander,” Khan says, “how far are we from their location?”

Your eyes fly open and you stare at him. 

“If we warp we can reach them in about thirty seconds, sir.”

No. It’s impossible.

“Prepare for warp, then.”

“Aye, sir.”

He disconnects the line and strides back over to you.

“I don’t understand,” you whimper. “How did you...?”

“Catherine told us us days ago,” he says. “My crew were very persuasive. It didn’t take her long to talk.”

She’ll never walk again. Your eyes grow wide.

He looks down at you. “I suppose you’re wondering why I bothered with you if I already knew?”

You nod breathlessly and he kneels down next to you.

“Because I know your type. Your pride, your loyalty…they’re immovable. I knew you wouldn’t tell me anything, no matter what I did. So, I might as well do whatever I want.”

You can feel the tears forming behind your eyes once again. You want to vomit.

“You’ll protect them at all costs,” he continues. “I admire that. You’re like me.”

“I am nothing like you,” you sneer. 

He only smirks in response and rises to his feet. He gestures to what’s left of your underwear on the floor.

“You might want to clean yourself up,” he says. “I doubt Kirk would want to see you in such a state.”

And the door closes behind him, leaving you sobbing and shaking on the floor.


End file.
